Night and Day, Part 2
by ArtistHeart
Summary: A sequel to Night and Day. How Dean helps Sam through his depression. Emotional hurt/comfort.


The hunt ended early that day. Dean has finished the creature off with a silver bullet and they had burned and buried the evidence. The day had brought a problem, and the brothers had crushed it with a solution. Jobs rarely ever went this smoothly. It was a good day.

Sam, however, did not feel good about it. He knew that he should be flooded with feelings of victory and relief, but all he felt was a growing pressure in his chest. A small anvil of doubt and dread, crushing his spirits with an iron fist. The sun hadn't even gone down yet, and feelings of darkness were already clouding his mind. It had been worse, lately. The more his mind turned on him, the harder he tried to suppress it. He was exhausted in every form of the word.

Dean could tell.

Dean eyed his brother suspiciously in his peripheral vision as he stepped on the gas pedal, sending the Impala soaring down the highway. Sam looked tired. Physically and emotionally. He knew his brother had been struggling lately. Heard him in the bathroom at night, sink water running. He saw the bags under his eyes in the morning. He heard the pain behind his voice, even though it was masked quite perfectly by his brother's smooth and passive tone. Dean could see right through him. And he had no idea how to help.

Sam sat in the passenger seat, silent as the dead. Thoughts spinning through his head. The normal thoughts. The bad ones. The hopeless ones. The anxious ones. He pressed a hand to his chest. The pressure was too much for him. He felt like puking. His eyes caught Dean's. They were full of concern. Embarrassed, Sam lifted his hand from his chest to his mouth, clearing his throat. Then he looked out the window. The world passing him by. Why couldn't life move this fast? Blurred by sped-up time. No sticky details. Just a haze of events, not affecting him so deeply. Not hurting so much.

Dean didn't quite understand. What was Sam so upset about all the time? Dean had problems too. Yeah, they bothered him, but not enough to debilitate him. He just didn't get why his brother reacted so harshly to everything. He guessed that was just how things were. He couldn't change them. He somehow wished that he could take Sam's place. He couldn't keep watching his brother like this. Especially when he felt so useless in helping him through it. Mostly, he just wished he could understand.

Sam wished that too.

They pulled up at a hole in the wall restaurant. Both of them got out, shutting the doors briskly behind them. Sam looked over the menu, found a decently sized salad, and ordered it. Dean shook his head.

"You and your rabbit food." Dean smirked.

"Better rabbit food than straight up greasy crap. I don't want my arteries clogged by age 40." Sam answered, voice tone flat. He tried to sound upbeat, but what came out was totally different.

Tonight, for whatever reason, it was really hard for him to interact. He didn't feel like faking anymore. Not right now. He sat in the rickety diner seat, consumed with the engulfing emptiness within him. In this moment he felt vulnerable. He knew, for once, that Dean could see right through him. And he didn't even care.

"You okay, bro?" Dean already knew the answer. He asked anyway.

Sam was caught red-handed. He took in a shaky breath, and exhaled deeply as he lifted a trembling hand to his forehead and raked his fingers through his hair, stopping at the back of his neck and holding it there for a moment. He felt Dean staring the whole time. He closed his eyes and dropped his hand down in front of him, lowering his head to look at the table. He stared at the cup stains on the black, paint-chipped surface.

"I don't know man." He said in a voice so low it was barely audible.

Dean didn't know how to respond. He just stared at his little brother. He could see the silent screams for help behind his eyes. Pain written all over his face. They ate in silence. Sam felt sick, but forced the food down anyway. He had to keep his strength up if he was to be any use to his brother. That was the only thing he was good for, anyway.

"I'll get us re-fills." Dean grabbed Sam's cup and went to get more to drink. A small gesture to let him know he cared.

About an hour later, they arrived at the motel. Sam opened the door and walked through, holding it for Dean. He looked around the room, his chest tightening even further. He knew that in a matter of time, Dean would be asleep and he would be alone with his thoughts. Again. Like always. His stomach dropped. He wanted to tell Dean, but his pride always got in the way. He was a grown man. Not a child. The last thing he wanted was to be a blubbering baby, looking to Dean to take care of him every step of the way. It wasn't who he was. He was tough. He was a hunter. He was a liar...

Dean's feelings were similar. He wanted to help his brother, but he didn't want to make him feel weak. He knew every man had a soft spot, and behind the whole tough facade there was weakness. It was a rare thing to show that weakness to anyone else. Dean was so concerned for his brother, however, that it almost seemed worth it to try and talk to him. He was honestly worried that Sam might do something stupid one night. He could tell Sam was on a downward spiral, and he didn't want to think about what was at the bottom. He couldn't live with himself if something happened. Grief did different things to different people, and he didn't know how much more Sam could handle on his own.

Dean watched his brother in silent turmoil, wishing he had the right words to say. Sam slowly made his way to his bed, sitting down on the edge. He slipped off his shoes.

"Sam." Dean said, studying him. "You know I'm always here if you need me."

Sam looked up at Dean, and nodded quickly. Then he buried himself under the covers and squeezed his eyes shut, wishing away everything he had ever felt.

SNSNSNSNSNSN

Dean woke up to the sound of running water. He groaned and looked over at the clock. 3:45am. This was fairly normal, him hearing his brother up at night. Normally he would just roll over and go back to sleep. But tonight, he didn't just hear water. He heard sobs.

Sam stood, hunched over the sink. Large hands trembling under the stream of running water. Normally it calmed him down, but not tonight. He never cried. The emptiness and numbness within him didn't allow it. But tonight, for whatever reason, the tears came. And they wouldn't stop. He hated himself for it. Why could he never sleep? Why could he never stop thinking? Why was he such a child, a failure, a disappointment, a burden. Why didn't he just give up? Thick sobs racked his body. His shoulders shook violently, cold sweat dripping down his temples and neck. His chest heaved, contracting the strong muscles in his back. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't stop the panic rising within him. He needed help. He needed someone. He was scared of himself. He was so alone.

Until he wasn't.

Dean pushed the cracked door open, and stood in the doorway. He stared at his brother, not knowing what to do. Sam didn't know what to do either. He just stood there, vulnerable in front of his brother. He lowered his face even further, trying to hide in shame of what Dean might be thinking of him in this moment.

All Dean could think of was how much he cared about Sam. What could he do or say that would ever be enough to rid his brother of such pain? He had never seen Sam like this. Helplessly crying, so devoid of hope and life. It terrified him. He slowly walked to his brother's side, and placed a comforting hand between his shoulder blades. He felt Sam trembling beneath his touch.

"Sam, calm down." His voice was deep and gruff, but it was also calm and gentle.

Sam's sobs continued, his thoughts still attacking. He mind was racing in a hundred terrifying directions, all pointing out his flaws, all driving him to ruin. With each heart beat, came electrifying currants of fear.

Yet, Dean's hand remained solid on his back. Steady. Unshaken. Constant. It was then that Sam realized that he needed his brother. He needed a cornerstone. He needed an anchor to hold him down in times of panic.

Dean had no idea what was going on in Sam's head. He only knew that he needed to be there with him. He should have been there with him all along. He cupped his hand under the faucet and brought a gentle splash of cool water to his little brother's face. He ran more cool water through Sam's hair, silently hoping he would calm down.

And he did. Sam's sobbing grew quieter until silent tears streaked his face. He took in deep gulps of air, trying to slow his breathing down. Dean was there with him. He was okay. Everything was okay.

"That's it buddy." Dean said, hand still on Sam's back. "Easy."

Sam slowly stood up straight, pulling shaky hands through his hair. His eyes were squeezed shut as if he was trying to blind himself from what just happened. His brother had witnessed everything. The panic, the tears, the weakness. But somehow he knew that Dean wouldn't judge him for it. He got a sense of acceptance and comfort rather than judgement and mockery. His brother had actually helped him feel something good for the first time in months. That was a huge accomplishment. All that was left for him to do was man up and thank him.

"Dean, I..." Looked at his big brother, eyes red rimmed and blood shot. He paused, hoping his words would come across as sincere as he knew them to be. "Thank you."

Dean nodded. "I'll always be here. I've got your back, Sam."

"And I've got yours," Sam answered.

He knew this wasn't the end. He would struggle with this until the day he died. He would have good days and bad days. The one thing that comforted him and gave him hope was that Dean would be there every step of the way. Night and day.

The End

Thank you all for reading! I wrote this because a few of you requested a part two. Reviews please :) Requests are welcome!


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